Our Ungodly Hour
by projectAL1C3
Summary: Marcus takes on an injury during an otherwise normal patrol. While waiting news of Marcus' recovery Dom reflects on the few things he has left in life and how priceless and fragile those things are in a world that's rapidly falling apart.


"_Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.__"  
>Mahatma Ghandi <em>

A wise man once said that you cannot both simultaneously prevent and prepare for war.

As a long time veteran of war, bloodshed, and death, Dominic Santiago wasn't so sure he agreed with those words. One could mentally prepare for war while in turn hoping to prevent it. You could prepare for the promise of a difficult life ahead while hoping that tomorrow you would still have a roof over your head and a warm meal in your stomach come nightfall. There were plenty of ways one could hope for one and prepare for another, plenty of things.

But then again, maybe he was wrong. After all, he'd been a Gear all of his adult life, and he'd really never seen anything that was different from his monotonous soldier's lifestyle. Violence always lead to more violence, which only lead to death, which lead in turn to anger from which only stemmed more violence. There was no winning this dark cycle of loss and defeat. After all, who could call any of this a victory when so many had lost their lives? Then again, that was probably why Dom had never been in charge. He couldn't see things the way his superior officers did. He couldn't compartmentalize and dehumanize and ignore all of those little things that made him a human being. That was why they were there, Dom guessed, and why he was here in this hell hole.

He couldn't stand to lose anything close to him anymore.

That was why he waited outside while Marcus Fenix was treated for his wounds within the confines of what was their best job at a makeshift hospital. It was why he waited here - alone - so that no one would see him shake, or the nervous twitch in his expression whenever he slipped into remembrance, or the guilt and fear that crept into his eyes when he looked down at his gloved hands stained with blood. Dominic Santiago couldn't look at it and accept the reality of what could have been.

For the life of him, Dom couldn't ever remember it happening before. The man, in all the years both he and his brother Carlos had known Marcus, had never been sick, never gotten injured. Even in the most gruesome battles of the Pendulum Wars, Marcus had erupted from every last one of them with little more than a scratch and a few cuts that had inevitably lead to some permanent scarring at the absolute worst. It was true in the end that Marcus was still only human, but some of the men that didn't know him better had begun to question. Frightful and admirable whispers that spoke and wove nonsensical tales of demigod like capabilities; stories of him walking onto the battlefields and shadow covered lands of the Locusts' homes, waving away bullets while destroying his enemies in countless numbers. These tales had always made Dom laugh and Marcus groan and frown in embarrassment. On days when Dom was in a good mood and wanted to get at his friend's temper he would encourage these tales, adding to them and telling young soldiers that it all stemmed from a specialty diet and workout routine that he shared only with those he deemed worthy. This, of course, only succeeding in pissing Marcus off more.

"Why do you tell them that shit?" he growled once in a distant memory in Dom's now hazy mind.

"'Cuz man, they look up to you. They need that shit. Why take it away from them?"

"So you go and tell them something even more ridiculous?"

"Hey, I need a laugh once and a while too."

Marcus' typical glare softened only semi-noticeably, but in Marcus' subtle language that spoke volumes.

Of course Dom had never once had the thought to cross his mind that one day those theories and beliefs would be blown away by the possibility of Marcus being injured on the battlefield. Maybe it wasn't so much that the thought hadn't crossed his mind as it was that he hadn't allowed it to cross his mind. Having lost his home, his brother, his parents, his wife and his children, to think the one thing Dom had left - his best friend and honorary brother - and the plausible loss of that entity had never been a permissible whim to entertain.

So when that day had come, Dom's world was momentarily shaken to the few foundations it had left.

Nothing ever happens faster than it does out on the battlefield. Maybe that is why the memories are always hazy, perhaps because of the speed in which they are processed, or because one's brain determines that it's better the memories remain unclear. For whatever reasons, Dom wasn't sure. What he did remember was the patrol. The walking, the talking, the jokes, a few well received at Marcus' expense in hopes that the mood would be lightened and this last cycle of their duty would go over smoothly. Jacinto's refugees had been having an unnatural occurence of good luck and hopes were high that it would see them out to the end of their mission.

Hopes are often shattered in times of strife.

Then there was fire, bullets, orders being screamed from a raspy, rocky voice that was their fearless leader. Cover was taken and eventually the noise had died down: a victory on the side of humanity again today. Sighs of relief were breathed, a few tense laughs released, and then everyone began to rise to their feet. None other than Delta were quick to continue a survey of the land, knowing that where a handful of Locust lay, a hundred more were likely to be in the shadows. Marcus started to machine-gun through a list of commands for their comrades to take when the tell-tale crack of a sniper's bullet popped their eardrums and an explosion of armor and blood erupted from Marcus' sternum. He grunted as he hit the ground and another barrage of bullets flew like the wind in their direction.

The instance had happened within a blink of an eye. Dom could remember icy cold fear constricting the muscles of his upper body as he strained to focus. By the time he was close enough to make a difference Marcus was already up on his side, coughing up bits of blood and cursing his Lancer for stalling in the process.

"Don't move!" Dom ordered while inching towards his downed buddy, eyes glancing every which way to make sure no more surprise attacks caught them off guard.

"I'm fine!" Marcus roared over the din. The blood that oozed through his teeth and the small hole in his chest plate were a formidable rebuttal against his words and only proceeded to further Dom's ever increasing fear.

"Just shut up and don't fucking move!" Dom snapped in response.

After half dragging himself, and Dom dragging him the rest of the way, both men were able to take a few moments to breathe under the safety of pseudo-formidable cover. Or whatever safety could be afforded to them by a fallen oak half rotted to the core.

"Let me see!" Dom demanded shakily, the panic still not having released its hold on him or his voice.

Marcus raised up a hand warding off Dom's oppressive mother-hen fretting. "I already told you I'm fine."

"Doesn't fucking look fine to me!"

He pressed the wound and found that the bullet hadn't fully breached Marcus' armor, a miracle to say the very least. The metal presses and compression shafts of his chest plate had slowed it enough to only pierce the skin. It was the impact that had taken the most out of him. It was going to hurt like hell, but he was going to live. Dom allowed himself a momentary sigh of relief and let the tremors of fear wash away slowly.

"Listen!" Marcus' rage was evidently flaring along with his obvious level of pain. "We don't have time for this shit! I'm still breathing and I can walk so focus on the damn grubs!"

More blurred visions and voices.

They'd had to hump it back to their base, and to make matters worse there was no way of getting Marcus there with assistance. He refused everything that was offered to him and stayed as far back as reasonably allowable so that no one else would hear him hack and spit up another mouthful of blood. Only Dom stayed close enough for comfort in case he passed out, and then once back home had demanded he go to the hospital immediately under threat of knocking him flat on his ass and dragging Marcus there personally.

"Fine, if it'll shut you up." Had been Marcus' angry response, and Dom didn't complain. The man could be angry at Dom all he wanted, but at least he'd be alive. In retrospect the wound wasn't serious, and Marcus' biggest risk was infection, but it still hadn't stopped Dom from considering the worst. It only took one thing to steal away all that you loved forever. Yet in the case of Dominic Santiago it had never been just _one_ little thing. Life had been an amassed shit storm of _big_ things coming one right after the other. Aspho Fields, E-Day, Marcus' trial and imprisonment, the Locust Wars…each major event in history had in turn taken with it a piece of Dom's fragile existence, leaving him with only his brothers in arms, and Marcus Fenix, a brotherhood infused in deep conflicts and shared time as well as loss, strengthened beyond compare of anything left existing in this broken and dejected world.

It had never gone spoken between the two of them of course but that was because they were men, and there were things that were just understood between men. It was understood that they were all they had left of each other's past where even though life may not have been ideal, it had been easier and filled with happier times. Now that was gone, and the loss of the one reminder and bastion of a past long dead and buried with those that made it up would have been enough to drive Dom right into the ground with them. Were it not for Marcus, he would have probably done so long ago. Laid right next to Maria and let death take him, because there would have been nothing past that point.

"You alright?"

The rock crushing voice stirred him out of his depressive reverie instantaneously. Dom stood without thinking and tried to wipe the blood from his hands, not exactly sure why.

"Yeah," he breathed, a tired smile coming to his face to see his old friend on his feet. "That was quick." Of course it took Dom a moment to notice that Marcus was no longer wearing his chest plate. Or any of his upper body armor for that matter. Instead he was simply sporting his black heavy lined t-shirt, awkward bulges around his chest tacitly revealed the bandaging there and at his ribs. The armor was held in Marcus' lowered arm, one connected piece with the arm binders tossed inside like a makeshift suitcase.

"Not a lot of damage," Marcus stated very matter-of-factly, but not bitterly. His anger with Dom must have subsided which relieved the younger man considerably. "Minor puncture wounds, and bruised a few ribs in the fall."

"That's good." Not knowing what else to do, Dom bent down and took Marcus' armor in his own hand. Together they walked and talked as they headed toward the barracks. "No bed rest or anything?" Dom added tentatively.

Marcus snorted derisively in response.

"Guess not," Dom sighed. "Still don't you think you should rest up for a little? You've barely slept these past few weeks Marcus."

"It was a lucky shot, Dom, don't get worked up. I'm fine."

The young man lowered his head, half guilty and half embarrassed in his own behavior. It took him a while before he even realized he'd fallen behind Marcus.

"Hey, Dom!"

He jumped where he stood. Christ, when had he stopped walking altogether? Looking up, Marcus was a good twenty paces ahead of him, blinking in confusion back in his direction.

"You alright?" Marcus repeated as Dom caught up slowly. Something about Dom's expression must have struck deep within his naturally unshakable walls because his ice cold glare was suddenly less severe than normal.

"Yeah," Dom lied. But when Marcus didn't move he knew that his transparent attempt at deception had been all too obvious.

"Spit it out, Dom."

A few more moments of silence passed, Dom staring anywhere but toward his buddy, who in turn was staring him down fiercely. This wasn't going to go away now that he'd been a fool and placed his heart on his sleeve, Dom knew that, and as cold of a bastard Marcus could be he wasn't going to deny Dom a moment to talk if he needed it.

"One lucky shot is all it takes, Marcus, that's all I mean."

And there, it was out. Like a dead thing between them smelling and mutilated and laying awkward at their feet, Dom had placed it there with no show of regret or fear of retaliation and he knew that he was right. Judging by the look on Marcus' face, he knew it too. There was a moment of guilt that flashed across Marcus' features before they returned to their usual stone cold countenance; however his eyes were still less intense in their stare as usual. Dom, on the other hand, wasn't sure what to do with the silence icily etching its way between them.

Now Dominic Santiago was a man's man all the way through, there was no doubt about that, but what his comrades lacked in compassion and heart Dom made up for with each of them. When it came to expressing his heart, his truest of feelings and concerns at the intended benefit of those he loved, there was nothing that would keep him silent, even if that person was Marcus. The one thing that had been haunting him this whole time since this shit day got started finally spilled out. Dominic Santiago was a man's man, but he was also a broken man and very near the edge of oblivion.

And Marcus stood there, waiting, because he knew Dom needed to say it even if he didn't want to hear it.

"You know what it's like, Marcus. Being there, watching someone that you care about die and not being able to do anything. I wasn't there, but you were. _Don't_ do that to me, man. You're the last thing I got left in this world." There was an awkward pause in which Dom had to choke back his emotions. Marcus took this time to blink awkwardly and take an uncanny interest in some nearby dead foliage. "One lucky shot, Marcus. That's all it could take to change everything."

Dom's gaze had fallen to the ground, partially ashamed of himself and his weakness, but most of all afraid of what Marcus would say at this revelation. Yet as the seconds ticked away, feeling like agonizing minutes, Dom thought that maybe he had gone too far. After all, Marcus had never been an open person and was never sure how to handle things like this. It had only gotten worse after Carlos' death: Dom's elder brother. Sometimes Dom feared that Marcus would eventually even pull away from him, and then he wouldn't know what to do.

"Sorry, Dom."

These two words broke his train of thought with a violent burst of surprise. With his eyes shooting upward, Dom was slightly taken aback to see Marcus' own gaze cast downward, guilt plain on his scarred face. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but this was going to be one of those rare instances in which the proper words failed Marcus completely.

"Hey…" Dom started. "Don't. I just…" he trailed off, finding his heart once more he remembered who he was. A Santiago. To them, family was everything, and Marcus was family. There was no reason to hide your heart from family, no matter what that meant. "I've already lost one brother, Marcus. I don't know how to lose two."

Marcus nodded in quiet understanding. His blue eyes seemed to absorb everything, even when cast downward in such a manner. They gave the impression that he always saw more than Dom did, or anyone else for that matter, and maybe that was true. It would sure as hell explain how Marcus had kept any of them alive for as long as he had.

"You won't." He said after a few seconds of quiet contemplation. "I promised Carlos I'd look after you." And suddenly within an instant the old Marcus was back, even a ghostly trace of a grin could be assumed to have momentarily graced his features. "So don't do anything stupid and we'll both be fine."

Dom laughed and started to follow his friend back to the barracks.

"I think I'll be fine."

"Better be."

Dom chuckled to himself again, staring out toward the vast space of the forests to their south. A soft sunset was beginning to nestle itself in the treetops. It was beautiful.

"Baird or Cole on the other hand…that might be a problem."


End file.
